The Blind Man of Seville. Robert Thomas Wilson. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Robert Thomas Wilson
Издательство: HarperCollins
Серия:
Жанр произведения: Ужасы и Мистика
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9780007378296
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      ROBERT WILSON

       The Blind Man of Seville

      

       For Jane and Mick and José

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       12

       13

       14

       15

       16

       17

       18

       19

       20

       21

       22

       23

       24

       25

       26

       27

       28

       29

       30

       31

       32

       33

       34

       ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

       About The Author

       Praise for The Blind Man of Seville

       Also by Robert Wilson

       AUTHOR’S NOTE

       A Small Death in Lisbon Robert Wilson

       The Big Killing Robert Wilson

       Instruments of Darkness Robert Wilson

       A Darkening Stain Robert Wilson

       Blood is Dirt Robert Wilson

       The Company of Strangers Robert Wilson

       The Blind Man of Seville Robert Wilson

       The Silent and the Damned Robert Wilson

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

       1

       Thursday, 12th April 2001, Edificio Presidente, Los Remedios, Seville

      It had started the moment he’d walked into that room and had seen that face.

      The call had come at 8.15 a.m. just as he was preparing to leave home — one dead body, suspected murder and the address.

      Semana Santa. It was only right that there should be at least one murder in Holy Week; not that it would have any effect on the crowds of people following the daily convergence of quivering Holy Virgins on board their floats en route to the cathedral.

      He eased his car out of the massive house that had belonged to his father on Calle Bailén. The tyres rattled on the cobbles of the empty, narrow streets. The city, reluctant to wake up at any time of year, was especially silent at this hour during Semana Santa. He entered the square in front of the Museo de Bellas Artes. The whitewashed houses, framed in ochre were silent behind the high palms, the two colossal rubber trees and the tall jacarandas, which had not yet flowered. He opened his window to the morning still fresh from last night’s dew and drove down to the Guadalquivir River and the avenue of trees along the Paseo de Cristóbal Colón. He thought he might be approaching contentment as he passed by the red doors of the Puerta del Príncipe in the baroque façade of the Plaza de Toros,